House of Cooper
by Sonnet Lacewing
Summary: Drabbles from the next generation of Coopers. If it involves, Alianne, Alan, or Thom, I'll put it here.
1. Ghost Hunters

**Ghost Hunting**

Response to Tammy Drabble #62: Intruder (Someone is an **intruder**, or perhaps just expecting one that never comes.)

_Disclaimer: I'm not Tammy Pierce. If I was I could get published._

Four small pairs of feet traversed a corridor so dark that it seemed to absorb the light from their lantern faster than it could illuminate the surfaces. It wasn't that surprising that all the players quaked in their shoes. The eldest was an unhappy participant – not having felt particularly interested in this type of adventure, but goaded into tagging along by the teasing of the youngest – Alianne, who was only eight years old. "You're not scared are you, Kally?" in that small, expectant voice was apparently more than she could take.

"We should be upstairs with the rest, enjoying the Samhain festivies," Kalasin muttered under her breath.

"It's just like you to think the 'dance of the faerie folk' is more 'portant than a' experiment of this megatude," Thom said.

"You mean _magnitude,_ I think," Kalasin corrected formally, shaking her head at Thom's insistence at trying to use words he didn't totally understand.

Before the door to the Conte family crypt they faltered, each suddenly uncertain what had possessed them to follow Thom's ghost story to this extreme.

"We could come tomorrow," Alan said in a quavering voice. Of course tomorrow in his vocabulary was any future date which was not now. Kalasin thought that sounded like a capital idea.

"It has to be tonight," Thom responded in his most grown-up voice, which still held enough soprano timbre to keep anyone from being fooled. "If my Uncle Thom really did make it so part of Duke Roger langers here, then we'll only see on special holidays. "

"_Lingers_," Kally corrected, her voice dropping to a whisper. Thom frowned and stuck the key in the door.

"Who goes there?" called a voice that sounded to the children like a specter. All four shrieked and ran as hard as they could, leaving behind a confused crypt keeper, who, for a fleeting moment, thought he might have company on this lonely holiday.


	2. Guilty Pleasures

Guilty Pleasures

(Response to Tammy Drabble 64: Everyone has a **guilty pleasure**, especially your favourite Tortall characters. Have fun writing!")

_Disclaimer: I am not Tamora Pierce, though I sometimes wish I were._

"Thom! Thom! Where is that dratted boy?" Ruth continued to call, but her voice got further and further away as she did so, until Thom became certain that she was off to search the far reaches of Pirates Swoop. He'd have to get back and complete his chores before the housemaid informed his da.

He quickly built a fire in a random grate in the servants' wing. In the middle of the day, there was little chance he'd be caught; all the servants were about their duties. He pulled the bag of powder from his pocket and open it hurriedly. He'd just grabbed a fistful when he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. Thom turned warily. George Cooper was leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his eyes slightly amused. "I wouldna' do that if I was you," Da said.

Thom emptied the powder back into the bag and regarded his father guiltily. "Da, I'm never gonna' be a great mage if I don't get to try some stuff."

He thought that the hint of a smile had touched his father's mouth, but it disappeared so quickly that he wasn't sure. Thom quailed under the stern look that the baron was giving him, until his father finally spoke, and the amusement he was hiding so masterfully in his countenance tinged his voice with the quality of a laugh. "I'm sure ya' got ta' try some experiments, but it's my job to keep yer head attached to yer neck, little man. Maybe we can get ya' some lessons with Numair when he gets back next week…"

"Really?" Thom cried excitedly.

Da grinned completely before he recovered the stern look. "Only if ya' do extra chores to make up for them guilty pleasures, youngling. But I should warn ya' that Master Salmalin won't put up with no layabout nor sneakin' off to try stuff he hasn't overseen."

Thom heard him, but was too excited to think about how much work this pursuit might entail. He skipped as he followed his father back to the main part of the castle, where Ruth could still be heard calling for him.


	3. Anticipation

**Drabble 67 Anticipation**

Thom and Alan were dressed in their best. Alan had even taken a bath without a single complaint. Now both were perched at the lookout tower, watching for signs of Ma. Aly was not. Aly had made up her mind that she was through with welcomes, through with waiting for her mother to come home, through with missing her mother. She was eleven, too old to need her mother anyway.

Aly meant not to rush at her mother in greeting the way silly little girls did. And if Alanna wanted to see her, well, she could come and find her. Aly had things to do. A book to read. Chores to finish. Studies. Funny thing though, she kept finding herself at the window, almost as if her feet carried her there against her will. She had never been able to hear incoming horses, the road was too far from this part of the castle, and yet she swore that she heard approaching hooves over and over.

Ma was expected midmorning. But those hours came and went. Old Molly begged her to eat her midday meal and took sandwiches to the watch tower for the boys. Still, no Alanna.

The afternoon crawled by and then the evening meal was served. Alan and Thom had come in reluctantly. They were crushed. But Aly tried to appear unconcerned. "That's what you get for wasting your day waiting," she said, wagging a finger. But she couldn't eat her dinner; she ended up pushing her food around the plate. And all too soon it was time for bed, but sleep was so far beyond her grasp. Some small part of her wondered, if she didn't wait to welcome her mother, would that keep her from coming home? What if something had happened? What if she never saw her mother again? Aly cried herself to sleep.

Ma slipped into the room like a ghost and Aly wasn't sure if she was dreaming when warm lips pressed her forehead. The night swirled around her, and her heavy swollen eyes took in the dark form seated at her bedside. "Is it really you?" she whispered hoarsely.

"I thought you were asleep, youngling," Alanna whispered, her features mostly indistinguishable in the dead of night.

Aly nuzzled her pillow. "Since I'm dreaming anyway, I'm awful glad you're home."

"Me too, Sweetheart. Me too."


End file.
